Root of all Evil
by Buddy Williams
Summary: A series of oneshots about the Brotherhood and their eternal quest for cash. Current chapter: Goodburger.
1. Eating Contest

**Author's Note:** Ever wonder how the Brotherhood gets their cash? Well, I did too, so I wrote this series of one-shots to try and extrapolate on it.

**Disclaimer:** I do own X-Men: Evolution. And it's opposite day. So I really don't. But the opposite of opposite day is a regular day, so I do. But I really don't.

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Eating Contest

Grab, bite, chew, swallow, repeat.

This has got to be a dream come true. All the hotdogs I can eat, and people paying me to do it! I'll admit, when the guys first told me about this eating contest thing, I thought they were playing some kind of trick on me. They do that a lot. So naturally I was a little suspicious when they started telling that not only was there going to be a big contest with tons of free hotdogs, but a cash prize to the person who could eat the most. I mean come on, paying people to eat?

Grab, bite, chew, swallow, repeat.

After I got a little less suspicious, they showed me a bunch of newspaper articles and stuff to convince me it was all legit. After that I went from suspicion to shock. It was like I had just beat the X-Geeks by myself and then won the lottery, only a million times better!

Grab, bite, chew, swallow, repeat.

There was a catch though. In order to get entered into the contest, you had to pay an entrance fee. A big entrance fee. Problem was, money's been kinda tight ever since Boss Lady left. We all pooled our money and it turned out we only had enough for one person to enter. It was kind of a bummer, really. You see, even though we all knew that I would probably win, everyone getting all the hotdogs they could eat would have been nice. The guys were real nice about it though. They all insisted I be the one to enter. They knew I wanted it the most. Well, that and I had the best chance of winning, and we really needed the prize money.

Grab, bite, chew, swallow, repeat.

So here I am, up on a big stage surrounded by more hotdogs than I've ever seen in my life. There's a counter behind me telling how many hotdogs I've eaten by now. I think I'm up to fifteen. The guys are down in the crowd below, cheering me on. Well, Toad's cheering me on. The little guy's going nuts; hopping up and down and whistling. Makes me feel good to have a little buddy like him. Lance is trying to look cool, but I can see he's cheering me on in spirit. Pietro…. well, he's doing his part by taking bets on who's going to win. It's okay though. He's just trying to make more money, and if we need one thing, it's more money.

Grab, bite, chew, swallow, repeat.

I sneak a look at the other people in the contest. There's about nine other people, not counting me. Wait, no, eight other people. The guy on the far right just gave up. What a wuss, only ate seventeen 'dogs. One of the X-Geeks entered the contest too. Figures. They always have to try and outdo us. Well, this time, the ball's in Freddy's court. No fuzzy German-talking freak is gonna out-eat the Blob, that's for sure.

Grab, bite, chew, swallow, repeat.

I'm up to twenty-six hotdogs. Two other people have given up by now. One of em even ran off to puke. The X-Geek -what's his name? Nightcreeper or something- is still in. I'm kinda surprised, you wouldn't think that such a skinny little wimp would be able to pack away twenty-two hotdogs. Make that twenty-three hot-dogs. I guess he's like Pietro and Toad, those guys use up their food faster than most people, so they eat more. Yeah, that's probably it.

Grab, bite, chew, swallow, repeat.

Another guy dropped out. Literally. He just passed out. He only made it to twenty-seven. The guys have quit cheering me on. I understand though, this is a big money-making opportunity. Toad's making himself useful and snatching people's wallets. I think it's neat how he can do that; take wallets without the person knowing. Pietro's still taking bets. I can see that he's already collected some money from people that bet on the losers. Lance is… where is Lance? Oh. He's over there trying to talk to Kitty. Figures. I wonder what Kitty's doing at a hotdog eating contest? I thought she wasn't allowed to eat hotdogs. Not coch… kush… not Jew-food.

Grab, bite, chew, swallow, repeat.

I'm up to forty hotdogs by now. Two other people dropped out at thirty-five and thirty-seven and a half. No one passed out or threw up though. Now it's just me, the fuzz-but, and some little Asian guy less than half my size. I can tell that freakshow isn't gonna last too much longer though. It might look like he's still going strong, what with the way he's shoveling hotdogs into his mouth, but I know different. See, his problem is he's going to fast. I know a thing or two about eating lots and lots of food, and rule number one is that you gotta pace yourself. It doesn't matter if you have the biggest appetite in the world, if you eat to fast, you'll fill up real quick.

Grab, bite, chew, swallow, repeat.

Yep, I knew it, fuzzy's down for the count. He shoulda paced himself. I'll admit, though, I'm kinda impressed. I wouldn't have thought the little shrimp would make it to fifty hotdogs. Now it's just me and the Asian guy. He's pretty good. I can tell by the way he eats that he's pacing himself just right. He's at sixty-one hotdogs. Just two behind me. He's eating his hotdogs really weird too. Keeps taking the dog out of the bun and ripping it in half, then eating it. Does the same thing with the bun, but he dips it in water. Weird. I'm not worried though. Really.

Grab, bite, chew, swallow, repeat.

Okay, I admit it, I'm getting a little worried. That Asian guy has to be a mutant, because no human could put away that much food and still keep his pace! We're tied now at seventy hotdogs each. I gotta do better. We need that prize money. Bad. If I don't win, all that money we put into paying for admission will be for nothing. Plus it looks like Pietro would owe a lot of people a lot of money. Speaking of Pietro, he finally stopped taking bets and started cheering me on. Toad and Lance are back to cheering me on too. I guess they could see that things are getting close. It's nice having their support.

Grab, bite, chew…. Uh oh.

I can't swallow. It feels like someone just flipped a switch in my brain and all of the sudden I'm full. This is bad. Very bad. I need to eat; I need to win! I can't let the guys down! C'mon Freddy, you're the BLOB! You can do this! ALL OR NOTHING FREDDY, ALL OR NOTHING!!!!

"BUUUUUUURRRRRRRRP"

Woah. I feel great! I got my second wind! That Asian guy is in trouble now! In less than a minute I've regained my lead. It's 80-76, and I figure it's time to end this. I stop eating just long enough to turn and look the Asian guy in the eye. He's giving me this "I'm still gonna win" look and has half a hotdog hanging out of his mouth. That "I'm still gonna win" look vanishes though, when I grab about twelve hotdogs in my hands and stuff all of them in my mouth at once.

Chew. Chew. Swallow. Grin.

The Asian guy's eyes practically bug out of his head. He knows he can't win now. Hanging his head in shame, he gets up and walks off. Hah. Crouching dragon, hidden tiger my ass.

The crowd's going nuts now. Toad's jumping up and down so high I'm surprised nobody's said anything. Lance has dropped the cool guy act and is whistling and clapping. Even Pietro's taking a break from collecting his money to cheer for me. The contest judge comes up and gives me a neat crown that says "Lord of the Large Pants" on it and my $1000 prize money. Then, out of nowhere, he gives me an extra $1000! When I asked him why, he said I broke some kind of all-time world record for hotdog eating. Go figure.

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**Author's Note: **Because Fred doesn't get enough love, damn it. You get twenty points if you can tell me where I stole the "Lord of the Large Pants" crown from.

Now, you can review and be a kind, considerate reader, or you can not review and be an evil Nazi bastard who beats up children and old people. Your choice.


	2. PimpSilver

**Author's Note:** This fiction is the result of eating old pizza and watching, "The Juggernaut, BITCH" before going to bed. You have been warned.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anyone but the prostitutes.

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PimpSilver

"GET DOWN!!!" Lance screamed as a spray of bullets shattered through the kitchen window and peppered the opposite wall with bullet-holes. The entire Brotherhood hit the deck except for Fred who covered his face and absorbed the impact into his impenetrable skin. Todd whimpered and crouched behind Fred, "What the hell is going on, yo? Who's shooting at us?" Before anyone could hazard a guess, another burst of gunfire sounded and several items of furniture behind the cowering Brotherhood were obliterated by the spray of bullets.

Then, as if to answer Todd's question, a voice could be herd shouting at the house between bursts of gunfire, "Ha! Eat lead motherfucker! I'ma get revenge for what you did to me PimpSliver! There can be only one Masta Pimp in Bayville!!" The entire Brotherhood immediately turned and fixed death glares at Pietro.

Pietro gulped. "Y-you guys don't seriously think he's talking about _me?_ C'mon PimpSilver could be anyone! Maybe he got the wrong address or.."

Lance army crawled over to Pietro and yanked his face to within an inch of his own. "What. Did. You. Do?" He growled.

Pietro held up his hands and laughed nervously. "Well, it's kind of a long story.."

Another round of gunfire tore across the room.

Lance snarled, "Talk, or I'll hold you up and let that guy fill you full of bullets!"

Pietro palled, "Okay, okay, sheesh… friggin psychopath." At Lance's furious look he quickly continued, "Uh, well, it all started about three weeks ago. I was heading into the city, minding my own business…."

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Bayville; Inner City, Three Weeks Ago.

Pietro whistled to himself as he strolled down the sidewalk. He was heading off towards his favorite hair salon; the one with the really hot Italian girl… or maybe she was some kind of Spanish. Whatever. He grimaced in disgust as he stepped around a homeless person sprawled across the crumbling sidewalk. Normally he wouldn't have been in this neighborhood, but cutting through here was a great shortcut, and since he couldn't use his powers in public, was too broke to hire a cab or bus, and Lance refused to drive him, shortcuts were the next best thing.

Pietro stopped at an intersection and waited impatiently for the light to change so he could cross. Quickly running out of patience, he looked around to see if anyone was watching and prepared to use his powers to cross the road in less than a second. Just as he was about to take off though, he heard something that stopped him dead in his tracks.

"No, don't! Please!"

Pietro looked around for the source of the voice. About a block to his right there was a large black and white striped limousine. Standing next to it was a man decked out in an outrageous fur coat, a large, striped hat, and holding a diamond-studded cane. He was holding the wrist of a scantily-clad woman, and judging by the terrified look on her face, he wasn't being too gentle.

"Damn it, Bitch!" The man yelled, "I thought I told ya'll not ta show yo skinny-ass hide back at this corner till Benjamin here has hisself a couple of friends!" He snatched a solitary C-note from her hands and waved it in her face.

"I-I'm sorry Zebra Daddy, but I couldn't find no…"

"Shut the fuck up, ho! I don't wanna hear yo' excuses! Now, are you gonna go earn, or is Zebra Daddy gonna have to choke a bitch?"

Pietro grimaced. He shouldn't interfere. It was none of his business. He should just keep walking, someone else would take care of it. It didn't concern him.

"Hey, leave her alone!"

Damn it.

"Zebra Daddy" turned to look at Pietro. "What's that? You got something to say to me, bitch?"

Pietro narrowed his eyes and walked towards the man. "Yeah, leave her alone."

Zebra Daddy stared at Pietro for a moment, then burst out laughing, "Oh I know some skinny-ass white boy didn't just try to get all up in Zebra Daddy's grill!" He reached into his coat and pulled out a glock pistol. "You best be stepping off, cracker befo' I bust a cap in yo' ass."

In less than the time it took for Zebra Daddy to blink, Pietro had run up, emptied his gun of bullets, and then ran back to where he was. Zebra Daddy didn't notice a thing.

"Go on then." Pietro said, "Shoot me. I dare you."

Zebra Daddy's face twisted into a mask of rage, "Oh, you know I will white boy! Time to die!" With that, he pointed the gun at Pietro's chest and pulled the trigger several times, only to hear the empty click of an unloaded gun.

Pietro grinned, "My turn."

Without using his speed, he darted forward and punched Zebra Daddy in the face as hard as he could. Zebra Daddy fell to the ground, clutching his face in pain. "You bitch! You can't punch me! Don't you know who I am? I'm Zebra Daddy, Bitch!"

Pietro snorted, "You're also an asshole, and I don't like assholes."

Zebra Daddy staggered up and pointed at Pietro, "Ya'll aint seen the last o' Zebra Daddy! I'll get my revenge!" With that, he turned around and stormed off.

Pietro smirked and turned to the woman, "No need to thank me miss, just doing what comes natural. But if you _really_ want to thank me I do accept money."

The woman just stared at Pietro with a dumfounded look on her face.

Pietro fidgeted "Okay then… I'll just be going now…"

"No, wait! You… you beat up Zebra Daddy! Zebra Daddy's gone!"

As soon as the words had left her lips, the doors to the limousine opened and a dozen other women stepped out. All of them had astonished looks on their faces as well.

Pietro started backing away, "Yep, Zebra Daddy's gone. I'll just leave you all to celebrate…"

But before he could get away, the women surrounded him in a circle. The woman that he'd saved stepped forward. "You can't leave, don't you know the tradition? You struck down the old pimp, so now you must take his place!" She bent down and picked up the cane that Zebra Daddy had dropped, "Take this pimp-cane, stranger. It is your scepter of power, with which, you shall rule over all things pimp!"

Pietro stared. "I-I'm the new pimp?" He looked around at the women who were now kneeling for him and slowly began to smile. Turning back towards the woman he'd saved, he hesitantly reached out, then, making his decision, he firmly grasped the pimp-cane in his hand and raised it above his head. The second his hand touched the mahogany handle of the pimp-cane, there was a massive flash of bling and the knowledge and power of all things pimp flew into Pietro.

"All hail the new pimp!" the women cried. "Tell us, what should we call you, what is your pimp-name?" One woman asked.

Pietro thought for a moment, then smiled, "Call me…. PIMPSILVER!!"

"Hooray for PimpSilver!" The women cried as they piled back into the pimp-moblie. Pietro grinned as he strutted around to the driver's seat; his money problems were over.

Several hours later at the Brotherhood house, an extravagantly dressed Pietro barged in through the door. "Yo, hommies, The Pietro is back!" The rest of the Brotherhood turned to stare at Pietro, who was wearing what looked like a combination of his battle uniform and a fur coat along with a feathered fedora.

"Yo, Pietro, what the hell are you wearing?" Todd asked.

Pietro chuckled, "Like my new threads? I had em' custom made in the fanciest clothes shop in town, cause I'm ballin' like that."

Fred scratched his head in confusion, "But, how'd you pay for it? We're flat broke."

Pietro smirked, "Not anymore, Blob. I got a new source of income. Our money problems are over." With that, he pimp-strutted over to the couch, tossed a large wad of twenties in Lance's lap, and pimp-strutted out of the room and up the stairs.

Lance sat there, stunned, looking at the wad of money in his lap. Then, he slowly looked up at Todd and Fred, "What the heck was wrong with Pietro's leg?"

As the week wore on, Pietro began acting weirder and weirder. He disappeared every morning, only to arrive again in the late afternoon with a large wad of bills. He also took to calling everyone "bitch" and backhanding Toad when he was upset. His number of dates seemingly skyrocketed as well, because it seemed like he was always seen with some girl in his arms. Or two girls. Or five. But, the rest of the Brotherhood didn't complain. After all, with all the money he was brining in with whatever it was he was doing, the bills were getting paid and the fridge was always stocked. They even had enough money to hire a cleaning service!

Everything was going great, that is until someone that nobody knew drove up and started shooting at their house.

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Brotherhood house, Present

"You're a pimp!?! That's where all this money's been coming from?!?" Lance shouted.

Pietro held up his hands, "Hey, hey! You said you wanted to know the whole story!"

Lance gave him a dirty look and let him go. "We're not done. I'll finish with you after we take care of the guy shooting up our house." He turned to look at Fred, "Blob, go out there and see our guest in, why don't you?"

Fred grinned, "Sure thing Lance" He turned around and charged through the wall, the bullets having no effect on him. Several seconds later they heard a very high-pitched scream and the sound of a car being destroyed. Several more seconds later, Fred came back in with a struggling Zebra Daddy in his arms.

"Let me go you fat fuck! I'll cap all yo' asses!"

Lance frowned, "Toad, shut him up."

Todd grinned, "With pleasure, yo." With that he spat a large, adhesive glob of slime at Zebra Daddy's face, covering his mouth and silencing his stream of curses.

Lance crossed his arms and looked from Zebra Daddy to Pietro and back again. "Alright, first things first; Pietro, you are not being a pimp." Lance held up his hands to silence Pietro before he could complain. "I don't care how much money you make pimping, it isn't worth it. Stealing is fine, extortion is fine, drug trafficking is fine, but there is no way I'm letting you be a pimp."

Zebra Daddy began making triumphant sounds, but Lance rounded on him and punched him in the gut to shut him up, "I wouldn't be too excited if I was you. From what Pietro told me, you're an even worse pimp than he is, and that's pretty damn bad!"

Pietro grinned, "Yeah, tell him La… HEY!!!"

Lance continued, "So, here's what's going to happen. Pietro, you're going to give this guy back his 'pimp-cane' or whatever and stop being a pimp." Lance turned to Zebra Daddy, "And you're going to be a pimp again, but, we're going to be watching you. So, you better be extra polite to your employees or you might have an 'accident' get it?"

Zebra Daddy nodded.

Lance paused, "Wait, I changed my mind. You're going to be extra nice _and _you're going to pay us forty percent of what you make or you _will_ have an accident"

Zebra Daddy looked defiant for a second, but quickly surrendered when Lance shook the house for emphasis.

"Toad, you can let him talk now"

Todd hopped up to Zebra Daddy and tore off the adhesive slime, leaving a large red mark on Zebra Daddy's face.

Lance turned to Pietro, "Now, give the man back his pimp-cane."

Pietro sighed and handed Zebra Daddy the pimp-cane. The second Zebra Daddy grabbed it, there was a massive flash of bling and the knowledge and power of all things pimp flew out of Pietro and back into Zebra Daddy. "I HAVE THE PIMPAGE!!!!" Zebra Daddy cried.

Lance sneered, "Yeah, yeah, just remember our deal. Wouldn't want a freak earthquake to destroy your home."

"Well ain't that a bitch? A'ight motherfucker, I feel ya. The bitches is gettin' better treatment an' yo ass is gettin' paid on Friday." With that, Zebra Daddy turned and pimp-strutted off into the sunset.

When he was gone, Pietro turned and looked at Lance accusingly, "Wait a God damn minute! You just said that you didn't want pimp-money, but you're taking money from a pimp!"

Lance shrugged, "Yeah, but this is extortion money. That's different."

Pietro went to argue, then sighed and walked away. "Oh, whatever." he muttered, "At least I've still got that cool suit."

He walked into the living room to get his pimp-suit out of the closet, only to find Toad standing there wearing it.

"Toad! What the hell are you doing in my-"

Before Pietro could finish his question Todd cut him off with a backhand slap to the face. "Shut yo' ass up, bitch! Don't you who I am? I'm Frog Daddy, Bitch!"

Pietro began to back away slowly, "Now Toad, don't do anything stu…"

But he was cut off yet again by two globs of slime; one that covered his mouth and one that stuck his feet to the floor. Pietro hurriedly tore off the slime covering his mouth, but before he could remove the slime rooting him to the floor, another glob of slime enveloped both of his hands and hardened like cement, rendering them completely useless.

Todd smirked and performed the newly-christened "pimp-hop" over to Pietro. "Silly bitch, don't you know you cannot fight my pimp-slime? I think I'ma have to educate yo' ass wit my pimp-tongue!"

"GUYS!!" Pietro screamed, "Help me!"

Lance and Fred casually leaned in the doorway and gazed upon the situation. Lance turned to Fred, "I don't see anything wrong going on in here, do you Fred?"

Fred shook his head, "Nope. Sometimes a pimp's just gotta smack his bitches around. Teach 'em respect." He said solemnly.

"Hey come on guys!" SMACK "OW, Seriously!" SLAP "OUCH, for the love of God, Help me!" WHACK

Lance and Fred just stepped back and shut the door.

End.

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**Author's Note:** Because It's hard out there for a pimp. Oh, and you get ten points if you review and tell me where I stole Zebra Daddy from.


	3. Desperate Times

**Author's Note:** I recently read a whole slew of fics about Lance shouldering a lot of burdens for his surrogate family. I figured I'd write a fic detailing just how far he'd go to make sure they had cash.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

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Desperation

It was quiet at the Brotherhood house. The teenage mutants who were usually so loud and boisterous lay silent and asleep in their beds. Except for one, that is. Lance slowly opened his eyes and looked at the clock by his bed. 1:12 AM. As quietly as he could, Lance slowly raised himself out of bed and began getting dressed. Being extra careful not to step on any of the squeaky floorboards, he tiptoed over to the door and softly pushed it open.

Normally the door would have let off a series of squeaks and moans that would have woken everyone in the house. However, Lance had planned ahead for this and used oil from his jeep to grease the hinges beforehand. Silent as a wraith he sneaked down the hall toward the stairs. He descended the stairs quietly, avoiding the boards that would bend or groan with an ease that indicated he'd done it several times before.

Continuing in silence, he crept toward the door. Spying his keys hanging from their hook, he reached out and snatched them, using his gloves to muffle their jingling. Then, very slowly and deliberately, he turned the doorknob until the slightest, softest of clicks could be heard. With an equal amount of dexterity he opened the door just slightly enough to allow him to squeeze through, then proceeded to do so while softly shutting the door behind him.

Without dropping his stealthy mindset, Lance quickly and quietly hurried towards his jeep. Instead of creating more noise by opening the door, he opted to silently vault into the driver's seat, landing with a muted thud. He slowly reached forward and placed the key in the ignition. This was the most nerve-wracking part. If he gunned the engine too loud, he'd wake them up, but if he didn't apply enough force, the jeep would stall, forcing him to risk starting it again. Lance took a calming breath, and then quickly turned the key, jerking the vehicle to life with a soft rumble. He sat in the driveway for a few seconds, waiting to see if any lights suddenly flicked on. The house remained dark. Exhaling a sigh of relief, Lance drove off the driveway and down the road towards Bayville.

After he had established enough distance between himself and the Brotherhood house, he turned on the radio. Focusing on the music helped take his mind off of what he was about to do. As he drove farther and farther into downtown Bayville, the scenery gradually began to change. Prestigious homes and wide, clean streets gave way to small, filthy hovels and cramped dirty roads. Lance turned the radio off. This was a dangerous neighborhood and he didn't want to attract any unnecessary attention.

Unfortunately, with the radio off, Lance had nothing to distract him from his thoughts. Inevitably his mind wandered from why he was there, to what he was about to do, to when it had all begun. It had been roughly six weeks ago that he'd found out about it. He didn't remember who he overheard talking about it, just that they had mentioned an address and money.

Usually he would have been interested, but probably wouldn't have investigated. However, he had overheard that comment at a time that the Brotherhood was incredibly broke. Even for them. So, he'd snuck out and gone to the address, willing to do whatever they wanted to get the money. They had told him what they wanted. He did it. They paid him. That was when it started. That was when Lance had started selling his body.

A gunshot startled Lance out of his reflections. He looked around quickly, but soon determined that whoever had shot the gun, had done so far away and not at him. Looking back ahead of him, he recognized the building down the block. He had arrived. Pulling the jeep up in front of the decrepit building he pulled the parking brake into place and turned it off. But instead of opening the door, Lance remained seated in the jeep.

He sat there silently for a few moments, hesitating. A few moments dragged into a few minutes. A few minutes dragged into several minutes. Lance bit his lip. He realized that he was terrified. He didn't want to do this, not for all the money in the world. It was humiliating; it robbed him of what little dignity he had left. He reached forward, fully intending to ram the key back into the ignition and drive away, never to return. Unfortunately, he didn't have that luxury as he immediately realized. If he didn't go through with this, he wouldn't get the money, and if he didn't get the money, the Brotherhood would starve. An image of a thin, emaciated Todd struggling feebly to catch a few meager flies for sustenance spurred him into action.

Squashing down his fear and revulsion, he opened the door and got out of the jeep, using his powers to create earthen tire-locks to prevent the attempted car-thefts that would surely take place as soon as he was gone. Slowly he walked up to the hated building, reminding himself every step of the way that he had to do this; that Wanda and the guys would starve if he didn't do this.

A bell rang as he pushed open the door, sounding far too cheery to belong in such a horrible place. Gathering up all of his courage, Lance strode resolutely up to the counter and banged on it for service, rather than ringing the bell. Presently, a bald, lecherous man came waddling out from the back room.

"Hold yer' horses, I'm coming, I'm…" He looked up for the first time and saw Lance. His face twisted into a smug smile of recognition, "Well now, lookie what we got here."

Lance stiffened, but remained silent.

The man continued grinning, "I knew you were all talk. I knew right from the start you'd be back. You're not too good for us when you need money are you?"

Lance grimaced. "Shut up you son of a bitch! I don't have to take this from you!"

The man's grin abruptly twisted into a frown, "I'd be more careful about insulting my elders if I was you, boy" He spat, "Or did you forget that you need my money?"

Lance flinched. "S-sorry." Any courage he had mustered collapsed under the immense weight of hopelessness that had just descended on him. His entire body sagged with the mental defeat. "Please, sir… I do need the money. Do you have an opening?"

The man's horrible grin returned, "I'll always have an opening for you, boy. Go down the right hall. The first door on the left will be your room. You know what to do."

Lance nodded and slowly shuffled down the hall. Looking down, he could see one or two porno magazines strewn across the floor. No doubt to help the man's "clients" get in the mood. Lance shivered in disgust. Arriving at his door, Lance turned and stared at the knob. Standing in the hallway, he was once again paralyzed with fear; this time all the more because he knew he could do nothing about it. He was utterly helpless, his once-stubborn pride reduced to shambles. If the guys knew about this… If the X-Geeks knew about this... if _Kitty _knew about this… Lance choked back tears. He was not going to cry dammit! Steeling himself against the fear and the pain, he gripped the knob, twisted, and strode boldly into the room.

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Forty-six minutes and seventeen seconds later a very different Lance strode out of the room. His clothing was rumpled and a damp sheen of sweat covered his skin. He walked with an air of someone who had just surrendered the very last ounce of their human dignity, and his eyes reflected untold misery. Lance slowly shuffled away from the door, and then collapsed, leaning against the wall for support. He slowly sank to the floor, not caring that it stank of sweat and sex, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Several teardrops appeared on the floor as Lance broke his earlier promise not to cry.

Eventually, his sobs died down to the occasional gasp and his tears stopped falling. Heaving himself off the floor, he reached up and wiped at his eyes, disgusted at both himself and his weakness. As he slowly began walking back toward the main desk, he unconsciously rubbed his arms. He just felt so dirty... so freaking _dirty. _When he reached the main desk, the lecherous man was still there.

The man looked up from some paperwork and stared at him expectantly, "Well?" he finally asked.

Wordlessly, Lance reached into his pocket and removed a small test tube. He held it out and the man took it with an appreciative grunt. After inspecting the white, viscous contents for a few seconds, the man smiled and looked back at Lance, "Alright, kid here's your compensation for your generous donation." The man reached into his pocket and handed Lance a crisp, clean fifty dollar bill.

Lance slowly reached out and took the money.

The man turned around and went back into the back room, but came out a few seconds later with a cup of orange juice and a cookie. "And here's the second part of your payment" He gave them to Lance, then continued, "You know, there's really nothing for you to be ashamed of. Donating to a sperm bank is a very noble thing to do. You're helping people out, kid."

Lance nodded mutely and walked out the door. As he walked back to his jeep, he sniffled and took a bite out of the cookie. He still felt like he'd lost some of his dignity, but the cookie made him feel a little bit better.

END.

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**Author's Note:** Didn't see that one coming, did ya? I was originally going to be up front about what Lance was doing, but it's just so much fun to lead you on and then yank the proverbial carpet out from under your feet. You get twenty-five points if you can tell me where I got the sperm bank giving out orange juice and a cookie from.

Review my story, or I'll kill my dog.


	4. Robbin' Hood

**Author's Note:** Pure crack. I was originally going to do an angst-y piece about Toad pick pocketing for cash, but then I came up with this and it just seemed so much better.

**Disclaimer:** I own many things. X-Men: Evolution isn't one of them. Yet.

Robbin' Hood

It was a normal afternoon in the Brotherhood living room. Lance was lounging on the sofa, strumming his guitar, Wanda was relaxed in the recliner chair, reading an ancient tome on magical knowledge that she had just got for $3.89 at Barnes and Noble, and Pietro was playing against Fred in an intense, high stakes game of Go-Fish. The only thing abnormal was the absence of a certain amphibious teenager who would usually have been either doodling in his notepad with his feet somehow or aggravating Wanda with his penchant for stupid pet-names and eating the local insect life. As if noticing the absence of his "Little Buddy" Fred looked up from his card game at Lance, "Hey, Lance, have you seen Toad around? I haven't seen him all day." While he was making this inquiry, Pietro took the liberty of speeding around behind him and taking the next half a second memorizing his hand.

Lance stopped strumming his guitar, "Eh, I saw him this morning, but he went up to his room and I haven't seen him since then."

"Shut up, both of you," Wanda snapped, "Toad's been less annoying this week than he is usually, and I don't want you jinxing it."

Having returned to his previous spot before Fred could realize what was going on; Pietro spoke up, "Yeah, the slimy Frog's been quiet all week, what's up with that?"

Lance shrugged and went back to strumming his guitar, "I dunno. I saw him finishing up a book earlier. Maybe he's been reading it all week."

Pietro snorted, "Toad? Reading? Are you sure using your powers don't affect your brain functions, Lance?"

"Hey, I know it sounds weird, but that's what I saw. He was sitting in the recliner, finishing up a book. I could see the title, it was called…."

At that very moment, the loud BANG of a door being thrown open pierced the air, and a green blur shot into the room shouting, "YO HO!!!" The blur ricocheted off the far wall, bounded off the ceiling, turned a quick ninety degrees and leaped off the floor, then came to rest on the back of the sofa. There, posing dramatically for the entire Brotherhood to see, was Toad… in green tights. "Greetings, peasants, tis I, Robbin' Hood!"

The awkward silence that immediately fell registered a 12 on awkward-o-meters around the globe. Wanda snapped her book shut. "Well, it was nice while it lasted. I'm going out until Toad gets over his bout of insanity."

Toad immediately hopped after her, "But, fair Maid Marian, I would seek to win your heart today!"

"Fair Maid Marian" responded by hexing him back into the living room.

Undaunted, Toad immediately sprang back up, "Pay no heed to the fair maiden's displeasure, O filthy peasants! For I, Robbin' Hood, have devised a plan that will defeat the X-Sheriffs of Nottingham, make us all rich men, and win the heart of Maid Marian!"

The Brotherhood continued to stare blankly at Toad. Eventually, Fred shrugged and got up, "Sounds good to me. I been waiting for some action."

Toad beamed, "Excellent! You are the first of my group of Merry Men. I dub thee, 'Little John'!"

Pietro gave the two an incredulous look as he stood up, "Wow. I knew you two were losers, but I had no idea you were such big dorks." He turned around and began speeding out of the room.

Toad smirked, "Fine, be on your way. Tis' no true loss for Robbin' Hood and his Merry Men."

Pietro froze mid-step and slowly turned around, "What did you just say?"

Toad smiled, "Only that you are not needed."

Pietro stormed up to Toad and jabbed a finger in his face, "Oh really? You think you don't need me? Well, I got news for you 'Toady-Hood'. You do need me, and to prove how much you need me, I'm gonna join your little band of Merry Men, so there!"

Toad's smile broadened, "Then welcome to Robbin' Hood's Merry Men! You shall be called Alan-a-Dale!"

Pietro smirked, "Right, ho! Robbin' Hood. Now, I shall maketh Little John and thee a proper suit, for you look like freaking idiots!" With that, Pietro sped out of the room, only to speed back in seconds later, sweeping by Todd and Fred in a blur of speed. To the collective astonishment of everyone in the room (except Pietro) Todd and Fred were garbed in traditional Robin Hood and Little John costumes. Todd grinned and adjusted his new feathered cap. "Thank thee, Alan-a-Dale. The Merry Men are certainly lucky to have you amongst our number."

"Thank me not, Robbin' Hood! You shall repay my services whence we commence kicking the asses of the X-Sheriffs of Nottingham!"

"Aye, Alan-a-Dale, but before we can commence the plan, we must recruit more Merry Men!" Todd turned to look at Lance, "What say you, peasant? Would you like to join my group of Merry Men?"

Lance shook his head in disbelief, "Man, you guys just get weirder and weirder. I'm out."

Todd gasped, "The peasant cannot leave, he's seen too much! Little John, apprehend him at once!"

"Right away Robbin' Hood!" Fred sprang into action and grabbed Lance in a bear hug, preventing him from escaping the insanity. Or breathing.

Todd hopped up to Lance and eyed him carefully, ignoring the streams of profanity that were being hurled at him and his Merry Men. Finally, he stood up and turned to address his motley band. "Men, if this peasant doesn't want to join us willingly, I suggest we _force_ him to join!"

"HERE, HERE!" Fred and Pietro shouted.

Todd turned around and pointed at Lance, "I dub thee… Friar Tuck!" Before Lance could protest, a Pietro-shaped blur flashed by him. Looking down, he discovered he had been crammed into monk robes.

"Someone shoot me."

Todd ignored his new recruit's suicidal wishes, "Now, come Merry Men, my plans can now come to fruition! We're off to quarters of the X-Sheriffs of Nottingham! To the carriage!" And with that, Robbin' Hood and his assembled band of Merry Men dashed heroically towards their carriage; except for Friar Tuck who was slung over Little John's shoulder and carried heroically to the carriage.

The Merry Men piled into the jee….carriage, with Robbin' Hood at the wheel… er… reins. From his captive position in the back, Lance groaned. "Damn it, you guys are all crazy! Toad doesn't even have a license!"

Todd grinned and gunned the engine, "Bah, what need of licenses has Robbin' Hood! I know how to drive a carriage well enough!" Before Lance could retort, Todd shifted into drive and floored it, sending the "carriage" careening down the street and around the corner.

In far less time than any sane driver should take, Robbin' Hood and his Merry Men arrived at the Mansion of the X-Sheriffs. Quickly leaping out of their carriage, the Merry Men strode boldly up to the gate.

Todd cleared his throat, "Little John, announce our presence to the dishonorable swine!"

Fred grinned, "Right away Robbin' Hood!" Without further ado, he stomped up to the gates and tore them from their hinges, then flung them into the yard, destroying several defensive laser cannons. He grinned even wider, "Knock, knock!"

As the X-Sheriffs emerged from the mansion and began sprinting toward the Merry Men, Pietro suddenly realized that none of them had any idea what Todd's plan was. "Say, Robbin' Hood, what's your plan for destroying the X-Sheriffs?"

Todd laughed, "Well, Alan-a-Dale, for my plan to succeed, all you and the Merry Men need to do is… provide a distraction!" Before he had even finished speaking, Todd was hopping away as fast as his legs could carry him. The rest of the Brotherhood stared, slack jawed as their "leader" escaped.

Pietro whipped around, "A _distraction_!?!?"

Lance snorted, "What the hell does he expect us to do? Dress in drag and dance the hula?"

Pietro stopped mid-rant and looked at Lance strangely. Slowly, a large grin began to creep onto his face.

Lance held up his hands and began backing away, "Oh no, I recognize that look. That's the look you get when you're about to ask me to do something that will make me question my masculinity!"

But, before Lance could make his escape, the X-Sheriffs surrounded them.

"Alright you losers, I don't know why you're here or why you're dressed in tights, but I do know that you're about to get trashed." Scott yelled.

"So, he doesn't know us huh?" Pietro smirked, "Well then Merry Men, what say we educate him?"

Pietro then burst into song.

_Pietro: We steal from the rich and give to the needy!_

_Fred: We take a lot off the top_

_Pietro: 'Cause man, we're greedy!_

_Pietro: We steal and we plunder, time and again!_

_Fred: Who are we you ask?_

_Both: We're the Merry Men!_

_Fred: With not a lot of brains, but a whole lotta brawn,_

_Pietro: His name's sure ironic, _

_Fred: I'm Little John! _

_Lance: I'm an innocent victim, I've no part in this, Kitty!_

_Fred: Hah, that's not true!_

_Pietro: He's singing in this ditty!_

_Pietro: Alan-a-Dale likes a fight and a hot, saucy maid!_

_Lance: What he's basically saying is he likes to get…_

_Pietro: PAID!_

_Pietro: When an X-Nerd named Hank stops us from holding up a bank,_

_Fred: That's Bad, That's Bad, That's Bad, That's Bad!_

_Pietro: In fact the lack of money is really making us mad!_

_Fred: We're Mad, We're Mad, We're Mad, We're Mad!_

_Pietro: So we take our mutant powers and we kick a lot of ass!_

_Fred: You better say your prayers, 'cause this moment is your laaaaasssssttttt!!!_

The awkward silence following the Brotherhood's improvised song was so intense that several of the more inexperienced X-Men spontaneously passed out due to severe brain hemorrhaging. Seeing this as a perfect opportunity, the Brotherhood immediately sprang into action. Screaming like small children they sprinted over the fallen X-Men and ran back to the jeep as fast as they could. Under normal circumstance, the X-Men would have pursued them, but the incredible awkwardness of the Brotherhood's song had not yet worn off and the X-Men that were still conscious were paralyzed by it. Several hours later when they had regained the use of their bodies, the X-Men would vow never to speak of that day ever again.

Meanwhile, as the Brotherhood were making fools of themselves, Todd was enacting part two of his plan. With his Merry Men distracting the X-Sheriffs he, Robbin' Hood, was free to sneak into the mansion and plunder all of its treasure and valuables! With uncanny stealth and silence, Todd leaped up to a second story window and clung to the wall beside it. Carefully, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his special window cutter; a brick. Then, with the utmost care and secrecy, he heaved the brick through the window, smashing it to pieces.

Acting quickly, Todd sprang through what was once a hand-blown French artisan window with trim by a master woodworker and landed in the room. Whistling jauntily, he pulled out a large burlap sack and began strolling down the empty hallways. As he walked, he tossed the various priceless artifacts and antiques randomly decorating the walls into his bag. After only a few minutes of ransacking, he figured he had enough loot and turned around to exit the mansion. Unfortunately, there was a figure blocking his way. A short, hairy, Canadian figure.

Wolverine growled and popped his claws, "End of the line, bub. Put back the stuff and maybe I'll let you off with only minor injuries."

Todd grinned, undaunted, "So, we meet again, Sheriff of Nottingham!"

"Sheriff of Nottingham? You feeling alright, smelly?"

"I feel fine, but soon you will not!" Todd shouted, as he pulled a home-made bow and arrow out from nowhere. "Your hand-knives cannot best my skill with a bow!"

Wolverine blinked, "Kid, that's a plunger duck-tapped to a broken hockey stick with a toothbrush glued to a marker for an arrow."

"Don't try and distract me, for it will not work!" Todd growled and pulled back on his bow. However, because his bow was really just a plunger duck-tapped to a broken hockey stick, it immediately snapped apart, sending bow pieces scattering in every direction. The arrow flipped off behind him, leaving a large marker smear all along the wall, the hockey stick shot off to his left and embedded itself in a door, and the plunger shot forward and adhered itself to Wolverine's face.

Wolverine frantically tried to remove the toilet sanitation device, but it was stuck pretty tight. Sensing an opportunity, Todd sprang into action. With a heroic call of "Robbin' Hood, YO HO!," he sprang over Wolverine and out a window, carrying his sack of plundered loot with him. "You'll forever remember this as the day that you almost caught, Robbin' Hood!" Todd cried as he hopped away.

"That line's not even from the Robin Hood mythos!" Wolverine screamed at Todd's retreating figure. Muttering, he stalked back toward the garage to brood while tuning up his bike. "Kids these days. No respect for literature."

Several hours later at the Brotherhood house, Wanda was relaxing in her room. She had returned to the house a while ago to see if Toad's stint of insanity was over and was pleasantly surprised to find an empty house. Deciding to take advantage of the rare peace and calm, she decided to relax by listening to her favorite loud, angry death metal band. Unfortunately, her peace and calm was not to last.

With absolutely no warning whatsoever, Toad came flying through her open window, hit the floor, rolled a few times, then came to a stop sprawled out on her rug. Then, slowly and with great pseudo-pain, Toad struggled to his feet.

"Oh, what a cruel world! Fair Maid Marian, I am slain! Alas, before I go, please accept this parting gift!" With that Toad held out a small box and did a very cheesy fake faint.

Wanda simply stared at him. After a few minutes, the "dead body of Toad" slowly began to inch the box closer to her. Rolling her eyes and sighing, Wanda shot a small hex bolt as his prostrate form, zapping him out of his "death" and out of character.

"Owww! Wanda, what'd you do that for?"

"To get you to stop acting like you're a medieval English outlaw."

Toad frowned, but quickly perked up, "Well then, as a modern-day American outlaw, I'm asking you to take this present."

Wanda eyed the gift with suspicion. "We can barely afford running water, where did you get the money to pay for a gift?"

Toad grinned sheepishly, "Well, that was kind of the reason I was acting like Robin Hood, yo. I stole from the rich X-Nerds to give to the needy, and we're pretty needy."

Wanda smirked. The little worm was witty, she'd give him that. "Alright" she said, "Give me the box."

Toad beamed and quickly handed her his present.

Wanda opened it cautiously, just in case he'd decided to buy her a tarantula or something. However, her caution immediately turned to amazement when she saw the contents of the box. Laying on a smooth, velvet surface were two ruby crystal earrings shaped into ankhs. Wanda gasped and looked up at Toad, "Toad! These are beautiful!"

Toad grinned cheerily, "They ain't as beautiful as you, sweetums."

Wanda allowed herself a small smile, "Thank you Todd, really."

Toad's grin erupted into a full-face smile, "No problem, baby cakes! Besides, this is only part one of my gift!"

Wanda raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what's part two?"

Toad beamed and hopped over to her door, "Part two is were I make you dinner!" he proclaimed, and hopped off toward the kitchen, leaving Wanda alone to reevaluate her opinion of the amphibious teen who she thought was just a disgusting annoyance.

As Toad hopped merrily down the stairs though, his former group of Merry Men waited for him at the bottom; none of them looking very merry. Toad paused, "Uh… hi guys."

Pietro narrowed his eyes, "A distraction, huh?"

Toad gulped, "Uh, yeah… about that… y'see."

Fred cracked his knuckles, "Yeah, I see a frog-boy who's in a whole lot of trouble."

Toad gulped even more, "But I robbed the X-Nerds and pawned their stuff! I got cash! I can pay you!"

As the Brotherhood began stalking towards Toad, Lance spoke up, "Oh, I think that you're _definitely_ going to pay!"

When Wanda began to hear Toad's high-pitched, girly screams, she assumed that he had burnt himself while cooking yet again, and turned up her music.

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**Author's Note**: My inspiration gave out about halfway through this, so it probably wasn't my best work. Oh well, whatever. You get ten points if you can tell me where the line about dressing in drag and doing the hula is from.


	5. Goodburger

**Author's Note**: Okay, so… slight deviation from my original schedule of a new chapter every week or so. Maybe they won't notice?

**Disclaimer**: Ownership kills the soul. Luckily, I have no soul. But I still don't own X-Men: Evolution.

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Cashiers rang, coins jingled, people coughed, fries and burgers sizzled, children wailed, and Lance Alvers hated everything. Just being inside a third-rate fast food joint was usually an unpleasant experience. He now worked in one. Lance scowled, recalling the conversation with the rest of the guys (and Wanda) he'd had earlier that week.

"_Yo, Lance, fridge is empty."_

"_Already? We just bought groceries with the last of the eating contest money! What'd you guys do, inhale it?"_

"_Uhhh… kinda? All those hotdogs made me hungry."_

"_Friggin… great. Good job, Fred."_

"_Aw, don't get mad, Lance. We'll scrounge up some cash somehow, yo."_

"_Forget it. I'm done relying on harebrained schemes to pay for our food and bills. I'm getting a job."_

_A collective gasp had filled the house._

"_Who are you!? What did you do with Lance!?"_

"_I am Lance, you idiot."_

"_Liar! Where were you on the day of yesterday night!?"_

"_P-p-piieeetroo, s-s-s-sto-o-p sh-sh-a-a-a-king m-m-me."_

"_Fine! But I see through your disguise! The real Lance would never stoop so low!" _

"_Look, this is just until we get a foundation, okay? Don't think I like this any more than you guys do."_

_He'd stormed out of the house, driving away to check for hiring locations._

And after an hour or so worth of searching, he'd found this hellhole. Luckily for him, the place was so run-down that they didn't think twice about hiring a grungy kid with unruly hair and no previous job experience. Lance sighed and adjusted the oversized hamburger-shaped hat they'd stuffed on his head as a part of his "uniform." A pinstripe shirt and matching suspenders completed the outfit. Humiliation wasn't a strong enough word for this place, but at least it paid. Six bucks an hour was better than nothing. He rang up the order of another customer, trying to be optimistic. At the very least, this place was so run-down and cruddy that the prep-patrol X-Nerds would never show up here.

A small ring sounded through the restaurant, signaling more customers. Lance rolled his eyes before spouting off the store's public relations slogan, "Welcome to the Goodburger, home of the Goodburger, can I take your order?" Raising his eyes from the cash register to look at the new patrons, his gaze fell upon a pair of ruby red shades.

"… I hate everything."

None other than Scott Summers stared back at him from across the restaraunt, "Alvers?"

Lance scowled again, wishing he was in his battle suit, not this stupid uniform. Call his headgear a salad bowl, but at least it wasn't a freakin' hamburger.

"What do you want, Summers?"

Scott just stared. Across the counter was his arch-rival, dressed in a ridiculous suit, in a completely servile position. For a boy scout, Scott liked to think he had a pretty intimidating wicked grin.

"Now now, Alvers. Is that any way to address a valued customer?"

Lance's lower eyelid twitched, "Get out of here, Summers. I mean it."

Scott laughed, "Oh, you wish Rock-head. This is a dream come-true. Hey Kurt! Get in here, man!"

The entrance bell jingled again, as Kurt Wagner elbowed his way inside, looking around with faint disgust at the inside of the restaurant.

"Ach, Scott, I told you we shouldn't have come here. The Burger Bomb is only closed for another day or two, there's no reason to get desperate!"

Scott's only response was to grab Kurt's head and point him in Lance's direction. Kurt stared for about one second, and then burst out laughing, "I take it back, I take it back! This place beats ze pants off ze Burger Bomb!"

Lance gritted his teeth, the ground tremoring slightly in response, "Okay, ha, ha, real funny. You had your laugh now get outta here."

"Scott? Kurt? What's taking you guys so… oh my god."

Lance glanced over; eyes meeting the staring face of Jean as she pushed open the restaurant door. How many freakin' X-Geeks could Summers cram in that fancy shmancy convertible?

"Is that Lance?" Jean stared incredulously, before covering her mouth to hide a laugh.

"Sure is, Jean." Scott grinned, "I think I just found my new favorite hangout."

Jean rolled her eyes, but didn't uncover her mouth, "Sometimes I worry about you, Scott," her hidden giggles completely destroying her attempt to be preachy. "I'll just wait in the car. Don't do anything stu- ahahaahaahaha!" Laughing despite herself, Jean shook her head and walked out of the restaurant.

Scott and Kurt eyed each other, and then turned to Lance, grinning widely, "I dunno about you, Kurt, but I feel the service here is very sub-par."

"Oh, ja, the cashiers are sooooo unfriendly!"

"Can it, freakshow! I don't have to take this from either of you!"

"Oh wow, that vas very rude of him, wouldn't you say, Scott?"

Scott grinned and waggled a finger at Lance, "I agree; this has to be some of the worst customer service I've ever had. I think we should talk to his manager."

Lance hesitated, "You wouldn't."

"I think ve woooouuullld," Kurt sing-songed.

"That's it. You X-Geeks have till the count of three to get outta here befo-"

"Alvers!"

Lance froze. With a wince, he turned to his left, facing his very angry manager, "Yes, sir?"

Scott and Kurt snickered in the background.

"What in Sam hill is going on here, Alvers? Are you disrespecting the customers!?" His manager growled.

Lance opened his mouth to protest, but Scott cut in, "I hate to complain, sir, but your employee here was very insulting to me and my friend. All we wanted was to order some of your delicious food, but he's been nothing but rude and confrontational."

"That's not true, sir!" Lance blurted, "These are just some hecklers from school who came he-"

"Can it, Alvers!" the manager barked, "I don't care if they're your arch-rivals who dress up in spandex suits and constantly foil you and your friends at every turn and spend all their time showing you up and rubbing your faces in the dirt! You'll give them happy, helpful customer service, and you'll do it with a smile or you're out on your ass! Am I clear?"

Lance's lower eyelid twitched, "Yes, sir. Crystal."

The manager nodded and stomped back to his office, slamming the door behind him. With a very large and very forced smile, Lance turned back to Scott and Kurt, "So… may I take your order?"

Scott grinned, "Why thank you. Yeah, game a minute to decide here… hmmm…"

Scott stared at the menu board, humming softly, hands in his pockets. Several seconds passed. Kurt snickered uncontrollably into his hand. Scott continued to stare. Several more seconds passed. Scott opened his mouth. Lance raised a hand to punch in the order. Scott closed his mouth wordlessly. Lance growled. The very corner of Scott's mouth twitched in a grin, but he quickly reasserted his blank expression, staring at the menu. A dozen more seconds passed.

"If I may make a suggestion, _sir?_" Lance ground out from between his teeth.

"Hmm? Oh, sure, go ahead," Scott grinned.

"Might I suggest the Classic Goodburger? It's an international hit." Lance forced out.

Scott tapped his chin in mock-thoughtfulness, "Hmmmmmmmmmmm…." He drew out the word for a good twenty seconds. Lance could almost feel the vein throbbing in his temple.

"Sure," Scott nodded.

Lance grunted and typed in the order, "Alright, anything to drink?" Lance's eyes widened as the question left his mouth before he could stop himself.

Scott once again stared at the menu, "Uuuuuuhhhhhhhh….."

Lance resisted the urge to slam his face into the cash register, "How about a medium soft drink, sir?"

Scott shrugged, "Yeah, okay. What are you getting, Kurt?"

Lance clenched his fists, preparing for another marathon deciding session. However, Kurt immediately answered, "Oh, I'd like two Deluxe Goodburgers, a medium fry, and a jumbo soft drink."

Lance sighed and began punching in the order. Before he could get halfway, Kurt spoke up again, "Wait, no, I changed mein mind. I vant four classic Goodburgers, a large fry, and a medium soft drink."

Lance scowled and began re-typing the order. The second his finger hit the button, Kurt opened his mouth once more, "Ach, actually, give me a Goodburger Supreme, two medium fries, a large soft drink, and a cookie."

Eyelid twitching, Lance stared at Kurt, "Are you sure?"

Kurt nodded around snickers, "Ja, Ja, I'm completely sure."

Hesitantly, Lance began typing in the order.

"No, wait! I changed mein mind again! I vant four Deluxe Goodburgers, two large fries, a jumbo soft-drink, and a cookie!"

Once again, Lance resisted the urge to slam his face into the cash register. Typing out the order before Kurt could change his mind _again_, he tore off the receipt, "That'll be eleven-fifty."

"You heard him, Kurt. Go ahead and pay the man."

"With pleasure, mein fraunde."

With a toothy grin, Kurt produced a jar full of loose change and dumped it onto the counter. Lance starred horrified at the pile of nickels, dimes, and pennies. "Why the hell would you carry that around!?"

Kurt winked, "We vere going to stop at ze bank after this, but I think this is a much better use of mein coin jar."

With a groan, Lance grit his teeth and began the painstaking process of counting out eleven dollars and fifty cents worth of loose change; Kurt and Scott almost falling over themselves with laughter. Almost a minute later, he scooped the last of the pennies into the register, "Eleven forty eight, eleven forty nine… eleven fifty." He glanced back up at Kurt and Scott's grinning faces, "Your order will be ready momentarily." Whirling around, he stormed back to the kitchen to pick up their food, their laugher following behind him.

"Yeah yeah, laugh it up, X-Nerds," Lance muttered as he scooped up burgers and fries, wrapping them and stuffing them into bags, "I'll remember this next time we throw down and you'll be sorry then." Reaching out for another burger, Lance froze. He stared at the food. Raising his head, he glanced out of the kitchen at the snickering faces of the X-Geeks. He returned his gaze to their food. Maybe he wouldn't have to wait for the next fight after all.

Grinning evilly, Lance looked around to make sure no one was watching. Seeing that the coast was clear, he peeled the bun off of Scott's classic Goodburger. Inhaling and snorting deeply, Lance threw back his head, and then hawked a lugie smack dab on top of the pickles. Quickly replacing the bun, Lance chuckled under his breath, wrapping the burger and shoving it into the to-go bag. "Can't forget the fries," he snickered. Scooping the golden potato products into their containers, he put them in a separate to-go bag, whistling innocently as he glanced around the kitchen. No one was watching. With another sinister grin, he tipped his head over the bag and scratched furiously, adding a healthy coating of dandruff to the greasy order. "Hope Nightcreeper likes extra salt," he grinned.

With a cheerful whistle, Lance strode out from the kitchen toward the counter, bags in hand. As he set the bags down and opened his mouth to yell out that the order was ready, the entrance bell cut him off. Out of habit, he glanced to the door to see the new customer. The second he laid eyes on her, his shoulders sank. Someone upstairs really hated him today.

Kitty Pryde wrinkled her nose as she looked around the restaurant, tapping her foot impatiently. Seeing Scott and Kurt snickering in the corner, she rolled her eyes and took a step forward. As she did, she glanced toward the counter to see if their orders were ready yet. She saw two bags, probably their daily dose of cardiac arrest on a bun. Then she saw who was holding the bags.

"Lance!?"

For the third time that day, Lance fought the urge to smash his face into the cash register, "Hey, Kitty."

"Like, what the heck are you doing here, Lance?" she asked, stepping up to the counter, eyes wide with disbelief.

Lance felt the color rise in his cheeks despite himself and he glanced downward, mumbling something about bills and food.

Kitty smiled softly at his reaction and waved a hand in front of his face, "I'm up here, Lance."

Scowling, Lance raised his eyes to look at her, embarrassment still evident on his face, "Yeah, sorry. Are you going to order something or just make fun of me too?"

Kitty rolled her eyes at Scott and Kurt who were still laughing in the corner, "Like, don't mind them. They're just being immature."

"Oh, I don't mind. I took their orders and even got the food _personally_."

Kitty snickered, "Oh god, Lance. What did you do?"

Lance shrugged, feigning innocence, "Why, Kitty, whatever do you mean?"

Slapping him playfully, Kitty grinned, "Should I be worried about their health?"

"Nah, they'll be fine. Just tell 'em that they shouldn't mess with the guy who handles their food. But wait till after they take a few bites," Lance winked.

"Alright. And for the record, I think it's cute that you got a job," she giggled, leaning forward to adjust his oversized hamburger hat, "Lance Alvers, working man."

Lance smiled softly, half-heartedly batting her hand away, "Don't get too attached, it's just a temporary job."

"I guess that means I'll just have to visit more often then," she smiled. Without warning, she leaned forward, phasing partway through the counter and kissing him softly on the cheek. Lance smiled goofily, flushing slightly as she pulled away, taking both bags of food with her. He waved lightly as she turned to go, hips swaying slightly as she left the restaurant, Kurt and Scott in tow.

Still smiling, Lance watched them through the window as they climbed in the convertible. Scott and Kurt were already wolfing down their food. Kitty turned again, meeting his gaze and winking before leaning forward from the back seat and saying something to the two. They both froze at once and stared at their food. Simultaneously, they leaned over the edge of the car, gagging and puking. Kitty sat back in her seat, laughing and Jean started the car, shaking her head bemusedly. As the vehicle drove away, Lance met Kitty's eyes one last time. They shared a smile. Then the car was gone around the corner.

Tenderly, Lance raised a hand to touch his cheek. Maybe this job thing wasn't so bad after all.

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**Endnote**: I support Lancitty, if you can't tell. Reviews! My (nonexistent) kingdom for reviews! And you get ten points if you can say where the Goodburger is from.


	6. Mindfreak

**Author's Note: **… I am not the most punctual of updaters.

**Disclaimer: **The story I own, but the characters ain't my own, and that's known.

* * *

From the first moment her powers had manifested, Wanda had known she was different. Not merely different from the rest of humanity; that much was self-evident. No, she was different even from her father, who's slightest gesture warped metal, or her brother that outraced the wind. She, however... she could do _magic_. Other mutants trained in metal rooms and learned in classrooms. Her teacher was a witch and her syllabus was eldrich knowledge.

All these thoughts passed through her head as she bent her focus to the task at hand. With a flick of her wrists, she produced a deck of cards and scattered them into the air. Observers would see only a cloud of cards, but her senses picked up something none other could detect: a cloud of _possibilities_, endlessly more complex and shifting than the 52 floating cards floating through the air before her. The sheer number of potential outcomes was so vast, it was no small wonder she had some issues with fine control. She halted that train of thought before it could continue; hard experience had taught her that over analysis was the enemy of concentration. In the span of a heartbeat, she reached out into that cloud of what could be, feeling more than looking, sifting and sorting through the possibilities for the one she wanted.

There!

With another flick of her wrists and a triumphant smile, the falling cards spiraled and twisted, seemingly by chance, actually by design, until every card rested on the ground. Instead of the large mess scattering a deck usually creates, the cards had fallen in the shape of a perfect, delicate rose. The triumphant smile on her face only grew more satisfied; the delicate nature of that bit of magic was further proof that her control was getting better.

Her stream of self-congratulating thoughts was interrupted when a chunk of carrot cake hit her in the face.

"Booooo! That's poopy magic! You're a poopy birthday magician! I wanna see rabbits and hats!"

As cake dripped down her scowling face, Wanda wondered what the hell had convinced her this was anything but the stupidest idea in the world. Oh right. Toad. The wart had the audacity to suggest she help out with their finances after Lance totaled his jeep during his latest attempt to impress Kitty. What's worse, he didn't even look ashamed when she pointed out how stupid that idea was. Her? Work? Preposterous! But then he had gone and made those stupid huge pleading eyes and pathetic hopeful smile, which _wasn't cute,_ and _wasn't adorable,_ and... and... somehow she'd found herself standing inside of a costume shop looking for a magician outfit.

Wiping the worst of the smeared cake frosting from her face, Wanda grimaced and inspected her costume. The shop wouldn't be happy about the cake stains, but she'd warned them she needed a kid-friendly washable outfit, not a leotard with a matching cape and hat. Stupid costume shops only selling sexy outfits...

Looking back to her prepubescent crowd, she fixed the cake-throwing brats with her best withering glare: the kind that usually sent toad hopping for the hills. Another piece of cake hit her in the face.

"We want REAL magic, pull some birds out of your pants or walk on water or somethin'!," screamed the lead brat, his pudgy face red with all the indignation an 8-year old can muster.

"That's not magician stuff, stupid," snarked one of his twerpy friends with huge glasses, "that's Jesus stuff."

"Same thing! Mommy, make her be better at magic!"

Wanda cast a pleading glance at the overweight soccer mom lounging with her friends on the other side of the living room. Unfortunately, the woman seemed far more intent on downing her entire glass of wine than paying attention to the swarm of screaming children. Without turning her head, she waved a hand absently at her son, "That's nice, honey."

"But moooooOOOooom, you didn't even loo-"

"Not my problem, happy birthday."

The other women seemed to think this was hilarious, and drunken shrieking laughter rose to compete with the bored angry heckling the children were flinging in Wanda's direction.

Shaking the cake off for a second time, Wanda switched tactics. The brats wanted magic? She'd give them magic. "I hear you! For my next amazing magical display, I'm going to... to bend silverware using only my mind!"

She just managed to dodge the cake that time.

Producing a handful of kitchen knives, spoons and forks, she waved her fingers at them and mumbled some nonsense that she hoped sounded like "real magic" to the hive of spoiled brats in front of her. As each utensil curled up into a tight spiral, she shot a smug grin at the ringleader. The little monster's only response was to cross his arms and stick out his tongue, "You bent them with your hands! I saw you! You're a faker!"

"Faker! Faker! Faker! Faker!"

Wanda's lower eyelid twitched as the rest of the spawn eagerly took up the chant. Tossing the ruined silverware over her shoulder, she scowled and rolled up her sleeves. She knew the risks; too much magic and the parents might get suspicious, but the importance of not blowing her cover was less and less important with every goddamn thrown chunk of cake. Subtlety be damned, she was busting out the big guns for this one. "Alright! You want real magic? Who wants to volunteer? Actually, screw that, I'm picking and I choose you."

She pointed straight at the pudgy ringleader of the brats, who had the decency to look surprised at least, before crossing his arms even tighter, "Nuh uh. I don't wanna be a part of your stupid show."

Wanda's smile was almost psychotically cheery, "Too bad!" With a careless wave of her hands, she told gravity to fuck off and propelled the small child into the air. The room immediately hushed, children staring speechless at their suddenly floating friend. Chuckling, Wanda propelled the boy in small circles above his friends, "So, how's _this _for real magic? Still think I'm a faker?"

Keeping his arms crossed like a vice as he hovered around upside down, the boy stuck out his lower lip in defiance,"This is stupid."

It was hard to tell whether the _woosh_ of air was from the child falling to the floor or Wanda deflating faster than a leaking balloon. Picking himself up, the little monster sneered at her, "I totally felt the wires, that was the cheesiest thing ever! Criss Angel is way better than you! Mommy, why didn't you get me Criss Angel?"

"That's nice, dear."

It was at that moment Wanda lost her mind. Raising her hands over her head, she screamed at the pack of snot-nosed ingrates, "ENOUGH! I can take criticism, I can _tolerate_ ingrates, and I can _ignore_ a bunch of little philistines like you who don't think anything is magic unless it involves a rodent and a hat, but I will not, I repeat, I will NOT BE UNFAVORABLY COMPARED TO **CRISS ANGEL!**"

With a final scream of rage, she brought down her hands, and everything went to hell. Light and noise exploded into the room as one lightbulb after another overloaded and exploded. Whirling with manaical glee, Wanda pointed at the chairs and sofas, which promptly gained a life of their own as they pounced and chased children in circles. Still laughing, Wanda raised her foot into the air and stomped. The rug immediately decided it would rather roll itself up than lay on the ground like a normal inanimate object, scooping up several children as it did. Cackling madly, she raised her arms once again, "Fly my pretties, fly, fly!" Plates of cake and icecream abruptly launched themselves from behind her, pelting anyone and everyone in the room. Children screamed, Wanda shrieked, and the soccer moms in the back broke out the vallium.

Step by step, Wanda advanced through the swirling chaos towards the pudgy little brat who'd dared to compare her to that... that hack! Half trapped inside of his own bewitched birthday cake, the boy looked up at her with wide eyes as she loomed over him.

"So, brat," she purred, her voice dangerously calm, "Any last taunts?"

Lip quivering, the boy opened his mouth, "This... is... AWESOME!"

The chaos in the room froze in midair, and Wanda swore she heard a record scratch.

"... What?"

"This is SO COOL! Your were like, 'RAAAAAR,' and then the furniture totally turned into monsters or something and then, 'fly!fly!' COOOOL!"

As the rest of the children immediately started screaming their agreement from inside the various items of furniture they were trapped inside of, Wanda had to stop herself from falling on her ass in confusion. One by one the bewitched objects reverted to normal, spitting out overexcited children. Before she could fully register what had just happened, Wanda was surrounded by a swarm of grabbing, cheering kids.

"Can I have an autograph?"

"Shut up, I want one more!"

"How'd you do all that, are you really real magic?"

"She's way better than Criss Angel!"

Torn between accepting their praise, running screaming from the house, or punting the ones who got too close, Wanda just stood their gaping. Mrs. Soccer Mom came to her rescue, pushing her way through the crowd of cheering spawn, "'At was a pretty good show, you made my boy happy. Here's your pay for an hour's show, keep the change." Wanda blinked as the woman handed over her entire purse, pausing to pull out another bottle of vallium for herself. "Okay kids," the mother continued, downing a pill with disturbing ease, "time to go hit the pinata." Having the collective attention spans of a goldfish, the flood of children instantly poured out of the living room, leaving a very confused scarlet witch standing alone, purse in hand.

Wanda looked at the wreckage of the room. She looked out the window at the children and parents gathering in the backyard. She looked down at her ruined costume. She looked at the purse which was inexplicably hers now. Shrugging to herself, she strolled out the door and struck out in the vague direction of the mall. Did her friends need this money for the jeep? Yes. Was she going to buy lots of heavy things for herself and make toad carry them for her first? Oh yes.


End file.
